


By the Second Week of January...

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Incest, M/M, Pre-Series, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 19:18:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1561163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had taken longer than Lincoln was expecting. Setting a new record, so to speak. (Pre-series)</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the Second Week of January...

**Author's Note:**

> I ~~bugged~~ begged Foxriverinmate for a prompt. She gave me: _It's the second week of January, there's an empty paper bag and the words “You never, ever last past the first week.”_ Apparently, the empty paper bag got lost somewhere; the rest is here.

It had taken longer than Lincoln was expecting. Setting a new record, so to speak: second Friday of January.

He lay on his back in the middle of his bed, listening to the footsteps in the living room. Michael hadn’t turned on the light after he’d let himself in; he didn’t need to. He knew the room like the back of his hand, could navigate through it with his eyes closed. Between his freakish mind, his every now and then visits and the fact that he’d been doing this for ages every year around the same time... he didn’t really need to turn on the light.

The bedroom itself was barely lit, only the lights from the street casting a wide stripe across the bed and fading into the shadows one foot before the door. Lincoln couldn’t see Michael’s cheeks pink and his eyes shiny with the cold from outside, but he could make out his hissing breath trying to adjust to the warmth of the apartment; he heard the rustle of clothes being removed more than he actually saw him stripping. He knew the routine by heart, nothing new here. He settled more comfortably, folded an arm under his head, and waited. Lifted up the blankets when Michael, after a couple of pauses, stopped by the bed, naked and shivering – with cold, anticipation, need, or a bit of all of that.

Every December, on the eve of the New Year, Michael took the wise resolution of putting an end to _this crazy thing between them_.

Every first week of January, he caved in and sneaked into Lincoln’s apartment, bed, arms, warmth, body... By the beginning of the second week of the month, his self-pledge lay forgotten, dismissed in the same way he had just dismissed coat and scarf and suit, dissolved beneath Lincoln’s welcoming kisses and caresses.

Lincoln smirked as he allowed him to slip under the covers, molding himself against Lincoln. Cold feet, fucking freezing hands holding onto Linc’s shoulders, icy nose and chin. Lincoln licked the outer shell of an ear to warm it up and got a low, appreciative grunt in reward.

“Steely resolve, this year, huh?” he whispered. His words tickled the crook of Michael’s neck; hot breath on cold skin that had Michael shudder harder, plaster himself tighter against Linc. The chilly Chicago winters had their perks, even more so when they coupled up with Michael’s futile resolution. The combination made him wanton in a so appealing way that Lincoln would almost have looked forward to this little routine.

“You’re hilarious,” Michael grumbled.

“I mean it. You never, ever last past the first week.”

“Shut up,” Michael said while grinding down. His voice was stern but, in the blue eyes gleaming in the half darkness, Lincoln could see surrender, amusement and something else; lust or want or love, whatever they wanted to call it – or avoid calling it, as a matter of fact.

He grabbed Michael’s ass with both hands, dragging and tugging until Michael rolled on top of him and they were perfectly aligned. Easily done; he didn’t need to insist much, he never did. They stayed like this for a few seconds, Lincoln’s heat seeping into his brother, Michael slackening into the embrace.

“I’m just saying...” Lincoln started again.

“Shut. Up.”

He rocked his hips and thrust shallowly against Lincoln’s stomach. Silky hard flesh sliding against equally silky hard flesh, grunts of pleasure mingling, heat now rising up from both of them. That was more like it, Lincoln thought. One of his hands slid up to cup the back of Michael’s head and pull him down, closer, closer until their lips brushed each other’s.

“Make me,” he demanded.

-Fin-

\--Comments and/or kudos are always appreciated :)


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